The housekeeper, normally never short of words, fled.
Alex didn’t knock – her house, after all – and instead opened the door and strode in to see Matthew squaring off against his father while her own father stood against the bookshelves in obvious discomfort.
‘Be quiet, all of you!’ Alex demanded. ‘You can be heard in the street!’ The two Britten-Jones men regarded her with varying degrees of apoplexy but her father showed only relief at seeing her. All were instantly silent. ‘What is going on here? Matthew?’
‘Don’t play innocent. This is surely all your doing.’
‘My . . .’ she began but trailed off with horror.
‘This is nothing to do with Alexandra,’ Chetwin snarled. ‘This is all your work, Matthew. You’re a disgrace. A half man. No wonder the army disregarded you. I should have thrown you at those doctors years ago.’ He looked at the Frobishers. ‘There are cures for this . . . this . . . madness he possesses: drugs, surgery, rehabilitation.’ His gaze flicked angrily back to his son. ‘I no longer care what they do so long as it’s wrenched from your body and you are returned a normal man to us.’
‘Come on now, Chetwin,’ Charles interrupted.
‘Frobisher, you can’t begin to understand the depravity of my son. I thought we’d taken care of this but it seems he just found a way to keep us off his filthy scent.’ He looked towards Alex and had she not seen it herself, she’d have denied that the gentlemanly Chetwin Britten-Jones was capable of such rage. His eyes had the look of the deranged and there was spittle clinging to his lips. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. ‘I am sorry for you, Alex, my dear girl. You certainly don’t deserve this heinous man as your husband.’
‘And still, knowing what you clearly knew about him, you encouraged our marriage,’ she said evenly but not without accusation.
Neither father nor son showed any surprise at her response.
‘I thought he’d come to his senses. He made us all believe he loved you.’
‘I did and I still do. But please don’t worry, Father, on Alex’s account. She’s found comfort in the arms of another to make up for all the areas I lack.’
Her father looked mortified. ‘I say, Matthew, that’s rather vicious and surely unfounded.’ He looked to Alex.
Alex couldn’t even bring herself to respond to his slur. Amazing herself, she forgave his accusation, knowing how cornered he must feel. ‘Chetwin, may I speak with Matthew, please?’
‘Darling Alex,’ her father began, ‘you truly have no idea what this is about or —’
‘Actually, I do. Please, Dad, Chetwin, a few moments, surely; this is Matthew’s and my home after all.’
Both elder men looked back at her with instantly rueful expressions and Chetwin finally nodded. ‘It’s too late. I’ve taken the step I should have taken many years ago. But I shall leave you momentarily. Matthew, don’t try to run – I shall hunt you down like the filthy cur you are.’ He turned his back on his son, refused to meet Alex’s horrified expression and moved past her.
In contrast Charles Frobisher squeezed her shoulder as he passed. ‘Be gentle on him, darling. This is not really women’s business. Are you sure you —’
‘I’m sure.’
The door closed and she turned to Matthew, who genuinely did give an impression of a cornered, beaten animal.
‘Your turn, Alex darling.’ His voice had a sneering quality that Alex had only heard turned upon her from today. Now it seemed he reserved it for her. ‘Do you really know what all this melodrama is about?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Harry told me.’
‘Harry,’ he repeated, somehow managing to make it appear as though the name was tarnished as he spoke it. ‘Lovely, generous, kind Harry . . . just looking out for you, was he, darling? Of course it has nothing to do with him wanting to clamber back into your warm bed —’
‘Shut up, Matthew. Just be quiet a moment.’
He became silent and now she could see he was anxious. It was a day for firsts because this was surely the first time she’d ever noted Matthew’s charm desert him for what could only be described as fear. Alex’s attitude softened.
‘Matthew, I’m sorry that —’
‘Don’t be. This is all my fault.’ He sighed. ‘Actually it’s not my fault – I can’t help who I am. I’ve tried. I promise you I have tried. And I probably tried hardest after I met you. For the first time in my life I had found a woman I genuinely connected with. I’ve always had female friends but you were someone I can honestly say I love. There were moments when I could almost convince myself I felt a romantic attachment to you and I can’t tell you how surprising that is for someone like me, who has grown up knowing his fate since the earliest of ages.’
‘Only almost?’
He frowned, then realised to what she referred. Matthew was quick like that. He gave a shrug. ‘I’m sorry that it wasn’t real, Alex. You deserve to be loved.’
‘We all do.’
He nodded. ‘That’s right. And James and I . . .’
She didn’t mean to flinch but was glad that Matthew didn’t see the slight recoil as he searched for the right way to explain his other relationship.
‘No one appreciates that we’ve been in love since we were schoolboys. He understands me, he makes me feel much taller than I am simply by the way he is when we’re together . . .’ He laughed. ‘He looks up to me – can you believe it? Surely one of the tallest men in Britain and he looks up to me!’ He shook his head. ‘He pays attention to me in so many ways; we are, dearest Alex, the perfect couple and desperately happy together. The problem is society thinks we’re monsters.’
‘I don’t.’
He had the grace to look surprised this time. He shook his head. ‘Then you’d be in the minority.’
‘Harry doesn’t either. He simply wanted to protect me.’
Matthew gave a sound of scorn, turning away towards the fireplace.
‘Matthew, look at me.’
Reluctantly, he turned back to face her.
‘Consider the way you feel about James and then imagine that I’ve spent the last few years being denied that affection. And then fate delivered me Henry Blakeney. He didn’t come looking for me and I didn’t go out searching for love. It just happened . . . and like you, I can’t have it – I just have to live with the regret of knowing what love feels like but never being allowed to enjoy it. At least you and James have had a lot of time together.’
‘Always stolen. Always clandestine. Always behind closed doors. Always on edge. Never allowed to be seen together too often. You heard my father. He thinks I’m one of nature’s mistakes. He’s looked into treatments. One of them, my darling Alex – forgive me for repeating it, but you surely must share this horror – is the surgical transplant of another man’s testicles after my own healthy pair have been removed.’ He laughed, almost girlishly – it had a hysterical quality to it that she’d never heard before. ‘He believes a dead man’s testicles can make me normal.’ Matthew began to cry. ‘In the beginning he thought he could beat it out of me and when that didn’t work he thought separating me from James could cure me. It has no cure. Believe me, if it did, I’d swallow the potion tomorrow.’
‘I mentioned meeting James but how could your father know conclusively you were together again?’
‘He couldn’t know unless we were seen. No doubt your lover took his revenge in the worst possible way. He did see James at the Yorkshire Club and James was convinced he saw someone standing outside where he lives. It was only a glimpse but he told me in Harrogate that he thought it was the same man he’d served that evening. I now realise that was your darling Harry.’
Alex blinked with consternation; Harry deliberately causing trouble for Matthew was a notion that hadn’t dawned upon her. ‘You’re suggesting Harry is behind the trouble?’
He sniffed and rubbed away tears. ‘Oh, come on, darling. Don’t be dim. He’s obviously
spilled everything that his clever mind has cunningly added up and he has kindly shared his arithmetic with our fathers. Your lover threatened James tonight at the club when he met with Charles and then he left moments after I arrived. Now my father turns up unannounced just as Helpful Harry is explaining to you that your husband is a sodomite.’
‘You say Harry was with my father this evening?’
‘I saw him, talking earnestly with Charles, before he noticed me and immediately left, presumably to come to you. One clever soldier – no wonder he survived.’
Alex was suddenly concerned, suspicious even, that Harry hadn’t mentioned going to the club to see her father. She couldn’t imagine Harry being vengeful but the truth was she really didn’t know him well. ‘The fact is it’s out, Matthew. Now we have to decide what to do next.’
‘You don’t understand, do you?’
She looked at him with confusion.
‘We don’t “decide” anything. My father has already taken action.’ He sounded angry but his voice broke on the last words and she was instantly horrified to see Matthew’s eyes well and tears spill properly.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The police are involved.’
‘What?’
Matthew drew a trembling hand across his eyes, rubbing them as she waited.
‘Matthew! What is happening?’
‘I’m probably going to prison, Alex.’ He sounded like a lost child suddenly. ‘They hang people like me.’
‘Your father wouldn’t do —’
‘One last chance. That’s what he gave me when I asked him to let me come to York. When he learned about you, I . . . I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father happier. Me not getting into the army was just another disappointment in a line of crushing disappointments. And in this moment of honesty, Alex, I’ll tell you that I didn’t volunteer and I desperately did not want to go to the Front. Am I a coward? Yes! But not for the reasons you’d think, not because I was afraid of German bullets or even death. No, darling, I was terrified of being discovered as different . . . as being a “queer” as they like to call my kind now. Can you imagine what the army would have done to men like me?’
She bit her lip, recalling Harry’s warning. ‘I’ll talk to Chetwin.’
‘It won’t work. Oh, he loves you, that’s for sure. You are the one aspect of my life I did get right, the single glittering success he might attribute to me . . . and now I’ve brought shame to you, your family, my family, our business. You know that’s what terrifies him the most, don’t you? He can’t tolerate the thought of other men choosing not to do business with him because his son’s a whoopsie.’
‘I don’t believe that. And I don’t believe he’ll call in the authorities.’
‘Believe it, Alex. He doesn’t mean to be a bigot but he can’t see that he’s to blame. He made me. Between Mother and him they created this monster,’ he said, poking his chest accusingly. ‘You don’t choose to be a man who loves men, Alex . . . you can’t choose whom you love. You can only choose whom you don’t love . . . and yes, you can choose to live unhappily, pretending to be someone you aren’t, pretending to adore someone you don’t for any number of reasons, from their status, their money, to even how they look . . .’
‘Or because they provide you a shield . . . give you credibility.’
‘Touché, darling,’ he congratulated with a sad grin. ‘But perhaps even you now know that when love arrives it weakens rather than strengthens one. It chooses you. When it’s real and heartfelt, you become its slave.’
She didn’t enjoy hearing the truth of his words and tried to shift the focus so the pain wasn’t echoing in her broken heart. ‘So are you a slave for James Feeney?’
He fixed her with a firm gaze. ‘I love him. What else is there to say? And now I shall go to prison because of how we feel about one another.’
Prison. It seemed unthinkable. ‘What about Feeney?’
‘They won’t find him. He’ll already be miles away from here. That at least does give me a sense of pleasure that he shall be free.’
The door was opened without any courteous knock and Alex began to feel the sense of authority over their home being stripped away by concerned parents. She hadn’t even heard her mother arrive but she glimpsed Minerva, pale-faced and looking traumatised, a second before Chetwin Britten-Jones filled the doorway; behind him stood an anxious Charles Frobisher.
‘Matthew, it’s time,’ he said.
‘Now, wait a minute!’ Alex demanded.
‘No, darling Alexandra, this is not within your control. I must now take charge of a situation I’ve allowed to run rampant for years. I was too weak, too blinded by family bonds to cut this cancer away, but I’m going to do that now for the good of all of us. I have written the petition and signed it before a magistrate outlining the circumstances of Matthew’s history of depravity . . . this sickness he lives with.’
‘Cancer . . . Sickness? Chetwin, listen to you – this is your son!’
‘No longer a son of mine until he’s cured.’
A stranger arrived, formidable in his height and long dark coat, his nose red from the cold.
‘Evening, sir, ladies. Forgive the intrusion. I’m Sergeant Dickson.’
Alex gave a low gasp.
‘I came in plain clothes for discretion,’ he explained. ‘Er, Mr Britten-Jones?’
Both men answered. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Matthew Britten-Jones and this is my house, Sergeant,’ he said, glaring at his father.
‘I realise that, sir. My daughter-in-law . . . well, she works up at Rowntree’s as a clerk and has seen you there.’ He cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘Um, that’s why I thought it best that I come here rather than one of my constables. Can we rely on the staff of the house?’
‘Only Norma’s on tonight and she’ll take anything to the grave with her, Sergeant,’ Alex answered, cold and abrupt, but making a mental note to have a word with the housekeeper.
‘Thank you, Dickson,’ Chetwin answered. ‘I’m hoping we can keep this as quiet as possible.’
‘Of course, sir. Erm, the other gentleman is no longer at the lodgings we were sent to.’
Alex shot Matthew a glance of sympathy and he caught it with a look that only she could interpret as triumph. Meanwhile, Minerva had sidled up to take her daughter’s arm, for once with nothing to say. Alex squeezed her mother’s hand to show that she appreciated the support but words felt trapped in her throat as this situation spiralled beyond her control.
Charles spoke to the policeman. ‘Sergeant . . . er, John, this must be handled with care and subtlety. It can’t turn into a circus.’
John Dickson, who had known the Frobishers all of his professional life, looked towards Matthew with only appeal in his expression. He removed his coat and as promised he was plain-clothed, seemingly already prepared for a clandestine removal of Matthew to wherever he was destined. ‘Mr Britten-Jones, a magistrate has granted a Reception Order by Petition for the County Lunatic Asylum where you will be admitted for special consideration. I am here to escort you. I’m afraid I am required to handcuff you, sir – it’s er . . . well, it’s the rules.’ He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘We can travel in your carriage and it will look as though we’re simply companions, if that is all right with you, sir.’
Matthew nodded helplessly, suddenly mute. He hung his head.
‘You surely can’t be serious about taking my husband to Bootham?’ Alex found her voice.
Before the sergeant could answer, Charles put his arm around both his women. ‘Alexandra, darling, it’s my idea that we admit Matthew to Bootham Hospital.’
‘But Dad, the lunatic asylum?’ She swung around with contempt to berate her father but found only sympathy in his beloved face.
‘Darling, it’s for the best. And I’ve asked Giles Farthing to meet us there; we need a solicitor.’
‘Alex?’ It was Matthew.
She faced him, wrestling wit
h horror as much as fury.
‘It’s better than prison.’ He swallowed hard, nodding at her. Her astonishment deepened at his resignation.
‘You have to help me fight this, Matthew, not give in!’
‘Too late, Alex. We’ve been fighting this on Matthew’s behalf for years. He’s no warrior – we did our best for him but his depravity won out.’ Chetwin’s voice was not as unkind as his words but his tone was hard, to match his granite-like expression.
She closed her eyes momentarily to find calm. These were unnavigated waters for her and Alex was unsure what was best to say. She desperately wanted to confront her father about Harry and admit just how much to blame her lover was for the mess she now found her marriage and parents in. Words were queueing behind each other – she wanted to unleash all of her frustration about love and loyalty, duty and family, but instead she choked out, ‘Well, I’m coming with you,’ in a tone that brooked no defiance.
The policeman nevertheless tried. ‘Mrs Britten-Jones, I think it’s best if —’
‘Sergeant Dickson, forgive me for my candour, but I don’t care what you think right now. You are carting my husband off to an institution whose reputation is hardly lauded. I will be accompanying him. Is that clear?’
He nodded. ‘It is, Mrs Britten-Jones.’
Alex now swung to point a finger at Chetwin. ‘After you leave my house, Chetwin, you are no longer welcome here . . . ever. That goes for you, your wife and Matthew’s brothers. I can put my hand over my heart and say to you that I hate you all for this.’ She could feel her mother’s horror behind her although nothing mattered now but saving Matthew. ‘I can’t stop what’s happening tonight but I’ll be damned if I don’t hire a lawyer immediately to advocate for Matthew. You’d better have all the proof at your fingertips because I’ll fight you through the courts for his release, if it costs me my entire fortune!’
Alex was aware of her breathing coming far too shallow, and her voice had reached an uncomfortable and unfamiliar pitch of anger to match the rage in Chetwin’s reddening face. No one else said another word but the look of awe in Matthew’s expression shored up her confidence and she felt as though she was riding Blackberry at full gallop on a crusade.
The Chocolate Tin Page 33